


Feeling Pretty Hollow

by imaginary gender issues (Violsva)



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (My Apologies for the Lack of Better Tags), Bisexual Characters, Crack Taken Seriously, Cunnilingus, Dubious Sexual Decisions, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Dysphoria, Genderswap, M/M, PWP, Suddenly-a-Girl, Temporary Sex Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/imaginary%20gender%20issues
Summary: Back when Clint was a teenager, he had occasionally vaguely fantasized about waking up with a pair of breasts to play with. He assumed that was true for all red-blooded men who were at all attracted to women.It turned out it was nothing like that.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65
Collections: Tongue Ficcing





	Feeling Pretty Hollow

Back when Clint was a teenager, he had occasionally vaguely fantasized about waking up with a pair of breasts to play with. He assumed that was true for all red-blooded men who were at all attracted to women.

It turned out it was nothing like that.

The other changes were less of a problem. His strength hadn’t actually decreased by much—apparently the spell didn’t affect muscle mass. The change in his centre of gravity was a pain, but if he had time to get used to it—god forbid—he thought it might turn out to be useful for some things he couldn’t normally do. He was carefully not thinking about his lower body.

The breasts were impossible to ignore.

He’d asked Natasha if he could borrow a bra, but she’d just laughed at him and said, “Nothing I have will fit you.” She’d offered to spar, but he really didn’t want to involve another person in this figuring-out-his-new-limitations-and-abilities thing, even if it was kind of hilarious watching Nat try to work around the changes in her own body.

Bucky’d offered too, but Clint had even less interest in looking like an idiot in front of him, so he’d sent him off to go see how Steve was taking the whole thing.

It had just been the three of them, Clint, Natasha, and Steve, close enough to take the hit. Natasha had been sneaking up behind the magic-wielding alien until it suddenly turned on her. He and Steve had both gone to back her up, when there had been a dazzling flash of light. Then Steve had said, “Ow,” Natasha had a brand new jawline, and Clint’s jockstrap had suddenly become superfluous. That hadn’t stopped them from getting the alien into Dr. Strange’s magical restraints, though.

They’d done most of the debrief and “hey, science and magic people, what the hell, fix this” part on the flight back, as well as a discussion of the kinds of gender identity vs. anatomy things that Clint had always assumed would never affect him personally. He’d _known_ about them. He’d done everything he could not to be a dick when it came up in the past. It just—hadn’t applied to him.

He’d gone straight from the quinjet to the showers, where some experimentation had told him he was a hell of a lot less comfortable with certain things than he would have thought he’d be. He’d decided to test out his new body’s physical abilities instead.

When Clint had gotten sick of feeling like his tits were trying to fall off, he’d gone and found some bandages—not like they were ever short on those—and wrapped up his chest. Then he’d reached for his bow and shot until he was out of breath, which was way too damn soon.

He could have just taken the bindings off again—archery wasn’t going to make his chest bounce the way acrobatics had, and he knew women could shoot without any problems—but instead he’d put the bow away and gone up to lie on his couch and stare at the ceiling and wonder how long it would take before the magic experts fixed this fucking thing.

Eventually someone knocked, but the possibility of distraction was not enough to get him to open the door.

“Agent Barton, Sergeant Barnes is requesting entry very insistently.”

Oh, sure, why the fuck not. “Fine.”

Bucky came in and sat down. “How are you?”

“Everything sucks.” Clint didn’t want to talk about himself. “How’s Steve?”

“Steve’s fine, actually. He says it’s not the first time he’s suddenly had to deal with a weird new body. He’s cooking with Sam and Maria.”

Food, right. Ugh. Fucking Steve, of course he was being perfect and well-adjusted. “Great for him.”

“So you’re not doing so well, huh.”

Clint didn’t answer. He hated this. He felt kind of guilty about it—there was nothing wrong with being a woman, Nat or Kate or Bobbi would smack him if he suggested it—but he _wasn’t_ a woman. And for some reason the differences in his body weren’t just surprising or annoying or weird, they were seriously freaking him out. According to Natasha, they wouldn’t affect his abilities much if he could find a well-fitting sports bra—but the idea of measuring his chest right now made his skin crawl. Most things about his chest right now made his skin crawl. He was still not thinking about his crotch.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I know I asked already, but I thought you might have had more time to think about it now.”

Clint blinked. Bucky had asked—he’d asked “Can I—?” and then Clint had told him to go see Steve.

He’d been asking if Clint wanted help. Like a good friend, or boyfriend, or friend-who-he-was-kind-of-dating, or whatever they were. Not ... not whatever Clint had been thinking at the time, because that would be an asshole move. Fuck, Clint was a moron.

“Sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. It—I can’t think of anything. Wait, you could order pizza.”

“Sure thing.” Bucky was smiling for some reason. “But, uh, before that I wanted to offer, well, this is probably stupid and insensitive, and just say so if it is.”

“What?” Clint asked, looking over properly. Bucky was blushing. It was hard to get Bucky to blush, and Clint shoved himself up on an elbow so he could fully appreciate it.

“I hate that this happened and that it’s hitting you so hard. But...” He trailed off.

“What?”

Bucky hadn’t blushed this hard ... ever, that Clint had seen, actually. “It’s been seventy years since I’ve gone pearl diving,” he said. “And, well, I thought I’d ask. You can punch me now if you want.”

Clint just stared at him. “You want to eat me out.”

“I mean, I’m never going to object to getting my mouth on you,” Bucky said. “But yeah. See if I’ve lost the knack of it.”

“Huh.” Clint thought about it. “Huh.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Bucky said. “I like fucking you normally, I’d like it like this. But we can wait until you’re back to normal if you prefer.”

“Order a pizza and I’ll think about it,” Clint decided.

“You got it,” Bucky said, phone already out.

*

They both looked at the bed, and then at each other. “You want—?” Bucky started.

Clint shook his head and went to adjust the pillows. He sat against the headboard, fully dressed, and waved a hand. “Take it off, babe.”

Bucky smirked wryly and started stripping. Clint tried to focus on the show.

He’d kept staring at Bucky’s mouth during dinner. Bucky didn’t talk about his past much to Clint, but Steve had said he’d been a ladies’ man before the war. And he gave amazing blowjobs. And—

Well, they’d ended up here. Naked by now, Bucky got onto the bed and crawled up over Clint, which was always nice. Clint ran his hands over Bucky’s shoulders and leaned into his kiss. Bucky kissed him deeply, licking at Clint’s mouth and then sucking on his tongue, pulling back so he could nip at Clint’s lips, and Clint let him distract him until he barely noticed that Bucky was unzipping his pants.

Bucky leaned back, sucking on Clint’s lower lip until he had to let go and Clint was groaning, and urged Clint’s hips up so he could pull his pants off. Clint went with it, kept his eyes on Bucky, and was still surprised when Bucky suddenly started sucking marks onto his hipbones.

Normally, at least when they’d had time to make it to a bed, Bucky went down slowly, spending time on Clint’s shoulders and collarbones and abs and playing with his nipples, but he could also take a hint. Clint was keeping his shirt on for a reason.

But he was definitely responding to Bucky like normal—had been even before they started kissing, just at the idea of Bucky’s mouth on him. This was how he would have expected it to go, if anyone had asked him before his body got switched: he would have thought he’d immediately try out the sexual possibilities. On his own he’d had the opposite of interest, but with Bucky here—with Bucky gently pushing his legs wider—

Fuck, there was something just about spreading his legs that felt—different—and then Bucky leaned in and licked his inner thigh and Clint tried to muffle his squeak.

“You want to stop?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Clint said. He wished Bucky wouldn’t ask, though. He kind of wanted to take out his hearing aids so he wouldn’t be able to hear how his voice had changed, but he didn’t normally during sex, and he liked hearing Bucky, and—he’d leave them for now.

“Just say so if you do,” Bucky said, and then his tongue—

Clint gasped, an absurd high-pitched noise, and Bucky made a _hungry_ sound and licked into him.

It was—it wasn’t like—it was hard to compare it, but Bucky’s mouth was both so soft and gentle against him and also sending heat stabbing through him with every motion, making all of his body clench up and twist with the pleasure of it. Bucky went slowly, or it felt slow, and the pleasure kept ramping up inside him, and he tried to hold still but he kept wanting to move, to wrap his legs around Bucky’s shoulders and thrust against his face, to shake and twist from how overwhelming it was—

Bucky’s hands landed on his hips, holding him in place for Bucky’s mouth, and then it didn’t matter what Clint did, he couldn’t get away from Bucky’s fucking _tongue_ on him—fuck—fuck that was good—oh fuck—

The orgasm burst in on him, and then stayed for a while, and Bucky kept licking him as the pleasure sharpened almost to pain and then—again—or still, it was hard to tell—fuck, oh fuck that was amazing—

Clint suddenly went really quickly from needing to shove Bucky’s face closer to needing him to stop, and pushed at his forehead. Bucky pulled away. Clint lay back and just kind of shook for a while.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

Clint gasped a little as an aftershock jolted through him. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.” He opened his eyes. Bucky was looking smug as fuck. When he saw that Clint was watching he smirked and licked his lips. Clint closed his eyes again and whimpered.

“So I’ve still got it?”

“Yes, fuck you, you’ve still got it,” Clint said. “Fuck. Could you, uh—” He reached out. Bucky lay down and wrapped his arms around him, and Clint cuddled in.

Bucky’s face smelled like—like what he’d been doing. That was weird. Clint kept his own face out of easy kissing distance—that might be a bridge too far.

Bucky’s cock was hard against his abdomen. Clint thought about that. Part of him knew exactly where it wanted that cock, as if he hadn’t just come ridiculously hard twice in quick succession. But that might _really_ be a bit too far.

On the other hand, well, hopefully they wouldn’t have this opportunity for very long, so while it was there...

“Hey,” Clint said. “You could fuck me.”

Bucky shoved himself up on an elbow so he could look into Clint’s face. “You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah.” He liked taking it up the ass, how different could it be?

“Let’s try my fingers first,” Bucky said dubiously. Clint made a grab for Bucky’s erection, which Bucky dodged at the last second. “You’re a menace.”

“And proud.”

Bucky backed up to kneel between Clint’s legs and slid his right hand up his thigh. Clint tried not to tense up.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Bucky said, and Clint nodded impatiently. It had felt great once Bucky had actually been going down on him before; he wanted to forget himself in more of that, not talk about it.

He couldn’t help making some noise when Bucky’s fingers slid against him, though. Bucky bit his lip and stroked gently against—between—Clint closed his eyes and tilted his head back and tried to just focus on the sensations.

It didn’t work as well this time. Maybe he was still a little too sensitive from before, but it was ... a lot. And then Bucky’s finger was—in, and his body was just ... open, ready for it—not really like anal, kind of...

It wasn’t that it was _bad_ , it was actually easier than anal, of course, but also ... wrong. He tried to just feel it instead of comparing, but this was less overwhelming than Bucky’s mouth had been, and he didn’t want that, he wanted to be overwhelmed so he didn’t have to think about it. Bucky moved his hand, and that was good, Clint pushed back into the sensation, but it wasn’t enough, not really. Or it was too much, too concrete, instead of the pleasure that had spread through his entire body before.

Bucky slid in another finger and curved them again, and Clint squirmed into it, tried to ride it the way he normally would during sex, tried to ignore the back of his head shouting _So fucking weird!_ on repeat. Goddammit, he normally liked Bucky’s fingers in him. This was not that different.

Clint tried to clench around them to see if that would make it feel better and Bucky gasped in a breath. Clint looked down at him. Bucky was staring at his fingers inside Clint, eyes dark, obviously into it, and that was—but Clint could deal with it. He lay back and closed his eyes.

A second later, though, Bucky’s fingers slid out of him. “No,” he said, lying next to Clint.

Clint blinked at him. “No?”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Too weird. Wouldn’t say no to a blow job, though.”

His cock, when Clint looked, was rock hard and dark red, and Clint thought about offering again, but ... he really would prefer giving a blow job. “Sounds good,” he said, keeping his voice light. “At least my mouth’s still the same, right?”

It was, and Clint relaxed as he sucked Bucky’s cock. He knew how this felt already. This was under his control. He sucked on the head, flicking his tongue against it, and then took Bucky as deep as he could—okay, it wasn’t entirely the same. But he could still make Bucky groan and shake and come down his throat.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. He called Clint ‘sweetheart’ a lot all the time, Clint thought—it definitely wasn’t just about this situation. He wished he could stop thinking about it, stop trying to compare everything in his head. “C’mere.”

At some point Bucky had wiped off his face. Clint cuddled against him, the traces of Bucky’s come all he could taste as they kissed. Bucky wrapped a leg around Clint and stroked his back through the layers of clothing.

“Guess I should take these off,” Clint said, but he didn’t move. Bucky pulled the blanket over them.

“Before you fall asleep, yeah,” he said, and Clint leaned against his shoulder and closed his eyes. If he fell asleep with his chest still wrapped, Bucky would wake him up.


End file.
